Mannequins I Have Known

Carol had a neo-plastic emotion that glowed like a muzzled supernova whenever you asked a question. I have seen her pause for hours, her unwrinkled brow wrestling with the inexpressible conundrums- language and existence. Boris was most likely a double agent, almost human in his invisible psyche, but hard-core fiber on the outside. Basically homeless, splitting his time between winters in a crowded warehouse on the East coast, and summers posing in front of a fun-house parlor. (Embarrassingly, birds sometimes nested in the top of his hat) If Carol and Boris had ever managed to meet, could they have found eternal happiness in that place, where touch and the un-sayable become mingled together? Somehow I doubt it, for she was all naive mid-western cowgirl; and he, other-worldly sophisticate. The in-law and logistical problems alone may well have been insurmountable. He was too inflexible in the arena of inter-personal relations, and she was the eternal virgin; there was no way to intertwine their lives into a single venue. Life is lonely for the best of us, but some are doomed from the very start, stuck in a revolving track mentality, doomed to changeless subsistence.